


Brushes and Systems

by Hekate1308



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Castiel, M/M, Professor Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Dean Winchester was not the most patient of men. AU, professor!Dean, artist!Cas





	Brushes and Systems

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random piece of fluff. Enjoy!

Dean Winchester was not the most patient of men. Normally he would have claimed that looking after his niece was one of the few exceptions to that rule, but today, he had a headache, he had spent the last night grading papers, he’d had another fight with the dean over their budget, and all he wanted was to just lean back and relax for one second.

“Sally, come here – I told you to –“

“But Uncle Dean” she whined.

He sighed and kneeled down so that he could talk to the five-year-old at eye level. “Look, I know the playground is fun, but we said we would go get some ice cream, right?”

The allure of ice cream proved too much for her and she nodded.

He stood up. “There we go.”

She took his hand, so he figured they were alright.

And then a voice spoke up. “So that is how you get them to accept the rules of the system, is it? Bribery?”

He turned his head to see a – well, an admittedly pretty hot guy; only that he wasn’t wearing shoes, his shirt had seen better days and was splattered with paint all over, and Dean didn’t think he even _knew_ what a comb was. “Since when is getting ice cream turning them into a part of the system?” he asked, perhaps more hotly than he intended – he couldn’t help it; no matter what “system” this guy believed in, Dean already knew what it entailed – some form of government control, most likely, the opinion that people should just do what they wanted at all times, and no sense of order whatsoever. He hadn’t worked his way up from his humble beginnings to be told that he was only a “part of the system”, as some of his students, who had tried such arguments on him in the past, well knew.

“Yes, well, but she wanted to keep playing – isn’t that right sweetie?” the man asked and Sally, to Dena’s relief, huffed and stood up straight. It failed to make her seem taller, but she was apparently satisfied as she replied firmly, “I am _not_ your sweetie. Uncle Dean calls me buttercup now and then, and mommy and daddy have their own nicknames, but I am _not_ your sweetie!”

“Ah, you see, the system got to her already” Dean told the guy. “She has already accepted the nicknames bestowed on her. There’s no hope for her, now.” And he swept his niece up in his arms and away from very hot but sadly a bit cuckoo guys.

* * *

Dean didn’t think he’d see the man again. Which in some ways was a shame – he could have used some eye candy in his life – but on the other, well…

Still. He spent a week pointedly _not_ thinking about him and then decided to go to the park during his lunch hour – to enjoy the sun there.

In fact, he would later remember that it had been the first day that week that he hadn’t thought about the guy, which at that time he would have called a good omen; but as he ate his sandwich and then leaned his head back to enjoy this beautiful day in the first week of May, he really didn’t think of anything at all.

That changed when he slowly became aware of something that sounded like a brush gliding across a canvas.

He opened his eyes to find the guy who had declared his niece to be a part of “they system” having actually put up a canvas close to him and now…

“Are you painting me?” he demanded. He was rather sure that people had to ask one’s permission before doing that.

“I am not doing any harm! The bench is a rather pretty subject, you see –“

The bench. He was actually going to use the damn bench as an excuse? Dean huffed. “Yes, well, I don’t see why you would want to paint a part of the system, so if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my _responsibilities_ – you know, the thing you probably don’t care for.”

And he would have stormed off if the man hadn’t run after him, holding onto his canvas and all. “Wait!”

Dean really had no reason to stay. He had no reason to listen to the guy. He certainly had no reason whatsoever to stop walking.

Which was probably as good an explanation as any to why he did.

“I’m sorry” the man said, surprising him, “But I had just had a fight with my twin brother about how I should get a job and stop that artsy nonsense and I had probably smoked a little too much weed” – alright Dean could have gone without knowing someone had been high around his niece, but still – “And you are very beautiful.”

Alright that was not something that many people had told Dean. He knew that he looked good of course, and few pf those who had tried to get into his pants had ever been slow to point it out – hell, he had met his best friend when he’d told him he was “smoking hot” and “by the way, I do like to have a bit of fun in my car now and then” – but beautiful? He blushed. “Thanks?”

“I – I admire beauty, you know” the guy continued and Dean realized with startling clarity that he probably rarely, if ever, discussed such things with other people. “I just want others to see the world like I do, if only for a few moments.”

Man, that was both one of the most touching and one of the saddest things Dean had ever heard. “Wanna get coffee?” he heard himself say.

The man stared, then beamed.

* * *

Castiel – who soon became Cas – turned out to be a pretty nice guy underneath it all, once they got to talk. In the third coffee shop they had tried to enter, since the first two had firm policies about serving men who didn’t wear shoes.

“Anthropology? That’s not what I would have thought –“

“What did you think I teach? Economy? Law? For some reason, auto shop is also high on the list.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugged. “People – once they get to guessing… you know how it is.”

Cas tilted his head to the side and thought about it. “Not really. They never really guess when it comes to me; they just assume and treat me accordingly.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean bit his lip. He could have pointed out that perhaps Cas should try and tame his hair or get some clean clothes or at least shoes if he didn’t want people to assume, but didn’t.

“I am happy I was wrong about you, though” he said softly and Dean swallowed.

“About anthropology?”

Cas gently retouched his hand. “About… the other thing.”

Their eyes met.

And just like that, Dean knew he was a goner.

* * *

He registered with relief that Cas didn’t really smoke weed on a regular basis – only when he felt very upset, and they soon decided that it was far better if he called Dean when this was the case. Mostly because after he smoked, his colour scheme got all out of whack, and no one wanted to see a picture of Cthulhu as Cas imagined him in purple and neon green.

He was also a pretty good boyfriend – comforting Dean after a hard day, showing him his paintings, happily playing with Sally while making conversation with Sam and Eileen once Dean had decided it was high time he introduced him to his family, even if his brother and sister-in-law had stared at his bare feet for a bit.

Yes, Dean Winchester was in love. Who cared if his boyfriend regularly ran around in what could at best be called rags? They were happy.

* * *

It wasn’t that Dean was ashamed of his boyfriend. It wasn’t. It was just that – well he didn’t want his boss and BFF to think he’d just brought someone he’d found on the streets to their fundraise. So he only thought it prudent to warn Crowley as to what to expect.

“A painter? If I had known you for for the artistic types, darling…”

“I am sure the world is a lot poorer for being deprived of your attempt at stick figures” he said lightly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t see any problem with that – he _does_ know how to use a knife and fork, does he?”

Dean grinned. “I make no promises.”

“Well” Crowley drawled, “At least it will be entertaining.”

* * *

It was, if not for the reasons Crowley or Dean would have thought.

When he arrived at Cas’ place and his boyfriend opened the door, he couldn’t help but stare. “Dude – is that a suit?”

Cas had indeed donned a suit. It was perhaps not the best-fitting one, his hair was as wild as ever and tying his tie had probed too much of a challenge, but still – this was Cas looking more respectable, for lack of a better word, than Dean had ever seen him.

He shuffled his feet – he was even wearing black shoes – and looked anywhere but at Dean. “I thought – you know how I feel about – but this is your place of work – I wouldn’t want to reflect poorly on you.”

“Oh trust me, you don’t” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled him into a kiss. “Tell you what, though” he grinned, “Before your first exhibition, I am taking you to the tailor’s to get a proper suit.”

He did so six months later.

Two months afterwards, Cas showed him a picture of a ring he’d painted.

Dean’s answer came quickly.


End file.
